I went in, and scored eighteen to
his five. "Holy Moshesh!" says Abednego, "dat little Coxsh is a vonder!
who'll take odds?"
"I'll give twenty to one," says I, "in guineas."
"Ponays; yase, done," screams out the Count.
"BONIES, done," roars out the Baron: and, before I could speak, went in,
and--would you believe it?--in two minutes he somehow made the game!
*****
Oh, what a figure I cut when my dear Jemmy heard of this afterwards! In
vain I swore it was guineas: the Count and the Baron swore to ponies;
and when I refused, they both said their honor was concerned, and they
must have my life, or their money. So when the Count showed me actually
that, in spite of this bet (which had been too good to resist) won from
me, he had been a very heavy loser by the night; and brought me the word
of honor of Abednego, his Jewish friend, and the foreign noblemen, that
ponies had been betted;--why, I paid them one thousand pounds sterling
of good and lawful money.--But I've not played for money since: no, no;
catch me at THAT again if you can.
A NEW DROP-SCENE AT THE OPERA.
No lady is a lady without having a box at the Opera: so my Jemmy, who
knew as much about music,--bless her!--as I do about Sanscrit, algebra,
or any other foreign language, took a prime box on the second tier.
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